


Say that you love me

by Queenofthebees



Series: A-Z Jonsa Kink Challenge [16]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: A-Z Jonsa Kinks challenge, Cunnilingus, F/M, Married Jonsa, Post-Canon, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-13 01:45:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13560048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queenofthebees/pseuds/Queenofthebees
Summary: He had wanted this union for his own selfish wants, his desire to have her for his own. And her praises were good enough for him to take and bury in his desperate heart as a sign of her returning his love, in the only way she knew how, the only way that really mattered for him.For her praises meant he was accepted by her, accepted into the heart of the pack and home that she had remade from stone and snow.Her praises meant he was worth something more than just a bastard who had become a King, more than what the North and the world saw when they looked at him. They meant she saw Jon, in all his needy and despairing glory, that she understood how much he so wanted to be loved and accepted by the Starks, by the North, by her.Her praises meant he was hers and she was his until the end of their days.Letter P (Praise Kink) of A-Z Jonsa Kink Challenge





	Say that you love me

It was a sick thrill, he knew. And one he no longer had the will to deny.

It was bad enough that he craved his half-sister in such a way. Even before the revelation that they were in fact cousins, he had longed for her, waking in the dark of night with her name on his lips and his cock straining against the furs. That was shameful enough.

But to actively seek her approval, to stroke himself to completion at the thought of her crooning praises in his ear was a desperation he could no longer fight.

He would kneel at her feet each day, acknowledging her as the Northern Queen, his true Queen. He would follow her orders to the letter and shiver with pride when she would smile in approval, when she would throw one sharp nod of gratitude his way.

And at night, he would kneel at her feet once more and worship her cunt over and over, listening to her soft sighs, moaning in pathetic desperation against her when she would reach down and stroke his hair.

He thought marrying her would kill the frantic need to seek her approval but if anything, being Sansa's husband and King made Jon all the more eager to receive her praises, to live up to the image and dreams she had once had of a good and kind husband.

And tonight, she was giving him sweet whimpers and groans, mumbling soft words that made Jon drunk with pride as his tongue stroked lazily up through her soaked slit.

"Gods Jon," she sighed, followed by a soft moan, her head tossing back against the pillow.

"Is it good?" he mumbled against her before he slid his tongue across the little bundle he knew would give her the most pleasure.

"You know it is," she gasped, her hips rising in slow, hypnotic movements, both hands sliding into his hair. "You're so good Jon."

He groaned, his eyes falling closed at the words as he continued to flick his tongue across her flesh, his hand sliding up to allow him to push a finger inside her.

He knew she needed him for this, even if for nothing else. She would never trust a man in her bed, by her side again. Only him. He knew it every time she called his name out again and again leaving him whimpering like a green boy between her legs from the sound. And the thought of being needed, being  _wanted_ by such a woman, such a beautiful, fierce, lovely, terrifying woman was as sweet as Dorish wine.

He loved her, this she-wolf of a sister, this beautiful and delicate bird. Perhaps it was always meant to be this way. The ghost of the Stark pack, always wanting from the shadows and the Lady of Winterfell with skin like steel. The crow and the little bird.

He had wanted this union for his own selfish wants, his desire to have her for his own. And her praises were good enough for him to take and bury in his desperate heart as a sign of her returning his love, in the only way she knew how, the only way that really mattered for him.

For her praises meant he was accepted by her, accepted into the heart of the pack and home that she had remade from stone and snow. 

Her praises meant he was worth something more than just a bastard who had become a King, more than what the North and the world saw when they looked at him. They meant she saw Jon, in all his needy and despairing glory, that she understood how much he so wanted to be loved and accepted by the Starks, by the North, by _her_.

Her praises meant he was hers and she was his until the end of their days.

She sighed softly, fingers tracing idle patterns through his curls as he continued his gentle strokes against her nub and his finger continuing to move steadily inside of her.

"Jon," she moaned, pressing hard against his head to push him down harder against her. He groaned, his tongue moving faster,  _harder_ as he felt her juices soak his chin and beard, her thighs shaking beneath his hands as he held them apart. 

He was not a true Stark. Even if he had been Ned Stark's bastard, even as Lyanna's true-born son, the Stark name was not his to bare, not on his own.

But with Sansa's soft voice calling his name, her hands in his hair and her hips rocking up and up and up, he felt more like he belonged here with them, with her, than he ever had before.


End file.
